


a leisurely breakfast

by renecdote



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Breakfast, Bruce is a sap, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, batfam, because I can only coordinate so many people in a scene, most characters only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 04:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: “This was a bad idea,” Bruce says.Cass shakes her head. “No. Being together… it’s nice.”Aka the one where Bruce decides the bats need to have weekly family breakfasts. Then regrets that decision a little bit.





	a leisurely breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Batman & The Signal #1 cured my writers block. Duke said “weekly breakfast table” and my brain said “oh my god they have weekly family breakfasts”. So have the beginning of the weekly family breakfasts.
> 
> Title from the quote: ‘All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast.’ - John Gunther

Bruce walks into the dining room, rubbing tiredly at eyes that wish he’d slept a little longer last night, and stops. He almost turns around and walks back out, but Jason catches sight of him.

“Finally!” his second eldest exclaims. His dramatic arm gesture almost smacks Barbara in the head. ”Any longer and we might have starved to death waiting for you.”

Bruce ignores the comment. He’s too busy staring at all the family members gathered around the dining table. More specifically, what each of them are wearing.

“What,” he manages to articulate. Has to take a moment to clear his throat, rough from sleep and a mild strangulation on patrol the night before. “What’s going on?”

Dick frowns at him. “Um, you invited us? For breakfast?” He sounds like he wants to check Bruce for a head injury. “Two days ago. We all got memos: ‘Manor, ten a.m., family breakfast. Attendance compulsory.’”

“Yes,” Bruce says, because he knows all that. He did send the memo after all, and not even at Alfred’s behest. The organisation of weekly family breakfasts, beginning today, had been entirely his idea. That’s not what he’s questioning. “I meant, why are you all wearing your uniforms?”

They all exchange looks while Bruce feels completely underdressed in his jeans and t-shirt. Designer, but still. Kate lifts her hand and turns her face away to hide what is definitely a laugh. Bruce narrows his eyes at her.

“We thought…” Tim glances at Dick, at Barbara, at Duke, even turns around to look at Luke behind him. None of them step in to help him offer a reasonable explanation. “Well, you usually only call meetings for bat stuff. So we assumed this was that kind of family business.”

“Hn.” Bruce has to concede that point. That’s why he’d decided to start this family breakfast tradition, after all, to stay connected outside the uniform. To keep his family together and nearby as much as possible. (He’d told Alfred it was for strategic purposes, though, lest the butler think he’s getting sappy in his middle age. Which he totally isn’t. (Ask Selina, she’ll say he’s always been a sap.))

“Is this not a meeting?” Damian asks. He stands from his seat, on the left beside Dick at the end of the long mahogany table, young face pinched in displeasure. “In that case, I have more important things to do.”

Bruce sighs. “Damian, sit down. No, this is not a meeting, but yes your attendance is still compulsory. Alfred will be disappointed if you don’t finish your breakfast.”

Damian scowls but sits back down. Directly across the table from him, Jason leans forward, likely ready with a taunt to rile up the youngest of the family. Something of a favourite pastime of his, a “big brother’s right” as he’d called it last time Bruce tried to get him to stop. 

“Jason,” he says warningly. And then, when Jason’s attention swivels once more to him, he realises something that completely derails his thoughts. “How did you plan to eat with the helmet on?”

“Tt. Todd probably didn’t plan. That would be above his intellect.”

“Oh yeah, demon brat? Well-“

Bruce gives in and starts massaging his brow. As if it will do anything to ward off his budding headache. Maybe weekly family breakfasts weren’t such a good idea. Monthly would be better, or yearly. Cass comes forward and pats his arm. Bruce smiles at her and accepts the mug of coffee she pushes into his hand. This is why she’s his favourite.

“Thank you,” he says and takes a large gulp. It scalds his tongue but he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even pause, just tips more of the heavenly liquid down his throat. One cup, he is sure, will not be enough for this morning but it’s a start.

Cass rolls her eyes at him (he can’t see it with the mask, but he can tell) then turns to observe the calamity that has fallen over the dining room. Dick and Barbara are trying to mediate the argument that has broken out. Damian is standing on his chair, halfway across the table, Tim holding him back not very firmly. Duke has vacated his chair to seek safer ground by Luke and Kate. 

“This was a bad idea,” Bruce says.

Cass shakes her head. “No. Being together… it’s nice.”

Someone, it’s unclear exactly who, knocks over a pitcher and juice spills across the table. Rivers of orange staining the table runner and dripping off the edge of the table to soak into clothing as well. Jason yelps and pushes back from the table. Bruce decided it’s time he intervene. Before any of the fine china (or his children) get broken. He steps forward, prepares his Batman voice, opens his mouth, and-

“What on earth is going on in here?”

Everyone freezes. There’s a second of collective grimacing and then seats are being hurriedly sat in and place settings hastily straightened. The only remaining indicator of the chaos the room had been in is the orange juice Tim is half-heartedly dabbing at with his cape. (Bruce wants to know what he thinks that’s going to achieve since the fabric is hydrophobic.)

“Good morning, Alfred,” Dick says with a cheery grin. Bruce takes a moment to admire his eldest’s bravery in the face of Alfred’s most unimpressed eyebrow raise. “We were just catching up while we waited for Bruce to join us.”

The butler’s lips are a thin, disapproving line. “Master Jason,” he says. “Perhaps you would like to fetch a cloth for the spilt juice? You know where they are.” Jason nods and gets up to do as asked. Alfred calls after him, “And leave your helmet in the hall closet when you return.”

Luke reaches up and unsubtly takes off his own helmet. Alfred nods approvingly at him. Everyone else takes the hint and starts peeling off their masks. Bruce takes his seat at the head of the table and moves automatically to sweep aside a cape that isn’t there. Dick notices and snickers at him. 

Five minutes later, Jason is back sans helmet and everyone is tucking into the food Alfred has laid out on the table with gusto. Even Titus and Ace, who have snuck in and are being slipped pieces of bacon under the table by everyone. It’s nice. Pleasant.

“So,” Bruce says. “How are you all?”

The peace is broken. A cacophony of voices start talking over each other. He thinks he hears someone asking if he’s has been replaced by a clone or an android. That sparks a debate about whether androids can be emotionally sensitive, which somehow leads to a highly divisive argument about Star Trek. Tim gets hit in the face with a glob of butter. Dick laughs so hard juice comes out his nose.  

Bruce sighs, but it’s fond, and he only wishes for a few seconds that he’d slept through his alarm. He's not sure why he ever expected these family breakfasts to run smoothly. Maybe with a bit of practice, they’ll get there eventually though.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or come yell at me on tumblr [here](tantalum-cobalt.tumblr.com).


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